


Only the Good Die Young

by athenasdragon



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Billy Joel - Freeform, Dirty Dancing, M/M, Unnecessary Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 15:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6861046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athenasdragon/pseuds/athenasdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A malfunctioning radio turns a lazy Sunday afternoon into something else entirely.</p>
<p>The T rating is probably unnecessary but there's drinking and gyrating hips so who knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the Good Die Young

**Author's Note:**

> It's a rare gift to myself to find mostly-finished fic that I had forgotten about. This one only took me a day or so to polish up, and I think it's actually pretty cute! I hope you all enjoy it.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon.

Crowley lounged across a cracked leather armchair in the corner of Aziraphale’s shop. He sipped something from a wineglass—something which up until recently had been a fine earthy red, but was now rather stronger and more amber in color—and occasionally flicked the page of the book he was reading.

Aziraphale leaned against the counter, where he had begun sorting through his accounts for the third time that day and gotten distracted by a small volume hidden beneath the pile of handwritten receipts. The language is was written in had died out a few hundred years previously, which meant that the angel was a little rusty. He had only made it through the first twenty pages when a strange grating noise erupted from the back room.

It had been a few months since the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, but Aziraphale and Crowley were still on edge. Their heads snapped up in unison to target the source of the disturbance.

“Oh,” Aziraphale finally said with relief, his stony features melting into a rueful smile. “It’s only the radio.”

Crowley sank back into his chair and tried to pretend that he hadn’t been thoroughly startled. “You never had a radio before.”

“I know. But I’ve been—that is to say, it’s been rather quiet around here recently. There’s a station that does swing music Sunday nights. I set it to come on when that starts. Or, at least, I thought I did.”

Crowley shook his head and took a large swallow of his drink. “You’re hopeless with anything electrical, angel.”

A deep sigh sent the few receipts Aziraphale had organized fluttering to the floor. “I know.”

Suddenly, Crowley came to full attention, his head tilted towards the back room. Aziraphale froze.

“What is it?”

An unsettling grin crawled across the demon’s face. “Hear that?”

Aziraphale listened. All he could hear was the distant tinkling of a piano on the radio. “No…?”

Without warning, Crowley leapt to his feet, perching on the two arms of the ancient chair. His glass smashed onto the somewhat moldy carpet and sent sparkling shards shooting outwards.

“Crowley! What are you doing? What’s wrong?”

A gesture from the demon raised the volume on the radio as drums descended towards the melody. Crowley pointed at Aziraphale and, rather astonishingly, began to move his mouth along with the lyrics, that self-satisfied grin still tugging at his lips.

_Come out Virginia, don’t let me wait_

_You Catholic girls start much too late_

_Aw, but sooner or later it comes down to faith_

_I might as well be the one_

Crowley leapt down to land in front of the still-stunned Aziraphale. He acted out the words in a mocking pantomime.

_Well, they showed you a statue and told you to pray_

_They built you a temple and locked you away_

Flames burst up around Aziraphale in an impenetrable ring and disappeared just as quickly. Crowley leered.

_Aw, but they never told you the price that you pay_

_For things that you might have done_

He did something with his hips that looked like it should have been illegal on grounds of public indecency. Aziraphale flushed.

_Only the good die young_

Aziraphale found himself spinning, Crowley’s hands tight around his wrists. “Really, my dear, I don’t think—”

The demon let go to continue dancing and pointing and singing and whatever else he was doing that Aziraphale hopelessly tried to ignore.

_That’s what I said_

_Only the good die young_

Crowley snapped his fingers and hellfire flickered up his arms. The ever-present sunglasses flew into the air and he fixed menacing yellow eyes on the angel.

_You might have heard I run with a dangerous crowd_

_We ain’t too pretty, we ain’t too proud_

_We might be laughing a bit too loud_

Another snap and he was back to Crowley: handsome, dramatic, a bit too tall for his build.

_Aw but that never hurt no one_

Crowley fell to his knees before the angel, hands up in a pleading motion. Aziraphale shook his head but now he was laughing. He couldn’t help it; the demon was so enthusiastic, it was ridiculous. It almost looked rehearsed…

_So come on Virginia, show me a sign_

_Send up a signal, I’ll throw you a line_

_The stained glass curtain you’re hiding behind_

The curtains burst open in a cloud of long-undisturbed dust. They both coughed.

_Never lets in the sun_

_Darlin’ only the good die young_

Crowley’s arms were around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling him along in an approximation of the dances that had been popular half a century before. They tripped and stumbled but somehow stayed upright, laughing and spinning around the shop. As the chorus continued in the background, Crowley spun the angel out and let go so that he overbalanced and fell into a chair.

_You got a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation_ , he crooned along to the now-blaring radio. Aziraphale suddenly wore the white robes more typical of his kind when they visited earth.

_You got a brand new soul_

_Mmm, and a cross of gold_

Crowley sang into an invisible microphone.

_But Virginia they didn’t give you quite enough information!_

_You didn’t count on me_

The infamous forked tongue made an appearance between Crowley’s sharp teeth. It wriggled obscenely before disappearing once more between his fangs.

_when you were counting on your rosary_

_They say there’s a heaven for those who will wait_

—a meaningful look at Aziraphale—

_Some say it’s better but I say it ain’t_

The glass re-formed perfectly in Crowley’s hand, as though the video of its demise had been rewound.

_I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints_

_The sinners are much more fun_

—that thing with the hips again, which Aziraphale definitely disapproved of in the most righteous way—

_You know that only the good die young_

—all right, maybe it was a little bit interesting—

_Only the good die young_

_Only the good die young_

The song transitioned to a saxophone solo. Crowley did a half-hearted air-sax for a few seconds before he got bored and switched the radio off. Aziraphale applauded, one eyebrow raised.

“You never cease to surprise me, my dear. Such talent.”

Crowley bowed so deeply his nose almost touched the floor while the angel miracled his clothes back to their normal state. “Why thank you. Hours of rehearsal for that performance, angel, and let me tell you—”

“Hours of rehearsal?” Aziraphale asked incredulously.

“Er, no, of course not. It was purely spontaneous.” Aziraphale laughed. “Shut up.”

Crowley sulked back over to his chair but the angel was determined to keep prodding him, especially after his own earlier embarrassment. “You know, I don’t think the crowd you run with is very dangerous.”

“Hmm?” The demon flipped open his book and pretended to be immediately immersed.

“No, ‘gangrenous’ might be more accurate.”

Crowley laughed, short and sharp. “Careful there, angel. These days the crowd I run with is mostly you.”

“Mmm, that’s true.” Interest in irritating the demon forgotten for the moment, Aziraphale wandered into the back room. “What time is it?”

Crowley glanced down at his expensive diver’s watch. “Where?”

“What?”

“Where in the world do you want to know the time?”

The angel’s head reappeared around the doorway, scowling. “Where do you think? Here. London.”

“Just before seven.”

“Perfect!”

Crowley tried to return to his book, but the noises coming from the back room were both loud and mysterious. A burst of static devolved into muted swearing, then a sort of crackling. Eventually ghostly music could be heard throughout the shop. Aziraphale emerged once more, his face red and shining.

Crowley arched an eyebrow. “Problems, angel?”

“No!” Aziraphale huffed. “Now we have music.”

“Good. It’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“To sing.”

Aziraphale started, then laughed, long and loud, as the demon’s expression melted into a self-satisfied grin. “Not today, my dear.”

“Hmph.” Crowley made a show of finding his place on the page. “Another time then.”

“Perhaps.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider leaving a review. :) Should I write more for these two? ALSO: If you've never listened to this song, I HIGHLY recommend it.


End file.
